


systems we arrange for intimacy

by staccato_ramble



Category: Glee
Genre: Friends With Benefits, M/M, POV Second Person, Stream of Consciousness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-25
Updated: 2013-06-25
Packaged: 2017-12-16 03:16:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 991
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/857130
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/staccato_ramble/pseuds/staccato_ramble
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As he sashayed out the door, you were too busy nursing your wounded tongue to even consider the idea that this would all end with you falling in love. There's a reason that hindsight is 20/20.<br/>Actions</p>
            </blockquote>





	systems we arrange for intimacy

**Author's Note:**

> So, I guess we can check weird second person stream of conscious fic off the list? Title from Marty McConnell's _Miniature Bridges, Your Mouth_.

Hands roaming over bodies, the slide of tongues, someone to keep you warm: those were the terms you had both agreed on.

For you, sex is something familiar and fun. It's a game where you score points through coaxing moans from another boy's mouth or making him so hard that he wants to cry. Coming first isn't a win, not to you, because there's something incredible about watching how the pupils blow or the breath gets ragged or the body shines with sweat as someone else reaches orgasm. There's always a moment where the other boy gets caught up in his own afterglow and you take a moment to pat yourself on the back, because you're the reason for the disheveled hair and mouth shaped bruises and semen drying on his stomach. You have systematically taken another human being apart and it makes you feel like a god.

Before all of this, you know he thought of sex as something so precious, he couldn't even say the word. To him, it was something meant for closed doors and soft lighting and someone he could've spent his life with. Once, he described his first time as 'magical' and you gagged violently, but that didn't erase the softness from his eyes. It wasn't fair that he was still in love with the boy he lost his virginity to, even thought they've broken up and been separated by state lines. He can't say his ex-boyfriend's name without looking a little wistful, but never slips out when you two are in bed together. You were grateful for this and that surprised you the first time you realized it. All of it was foreshadowing to how it would end.

It wasn't the first time the two of you had been in a bar together, but it _was_ the first time you got to see him drunk. He was with a group of people, laughing high and bright as they tried to pull him onto the dance floor. You stared for a little while, trying to remember if he looked this good in high school and failing, because each time you try to give him the once over, you get distracted somewhere down the long line of his neck. When the friends give up and leave him to nurse whatever he's drinking and you see your opportunity, sliding up with well practiced ease. Up close, he smelled a lot like booze and a little like sweat and that's the kind of thing that gets your blood running hot, so you slipped a hand onto his knee.

"Long time, no see," you remember saying, voice low, "I thought you were too good for places like this."

"I am," he told you cheerfully, "But apparently the awfulness of a club is supposed to counter the awfulness of being dumped."

Before he could even finish the drink, you had him in a bathroom stall, moaning wantonly as your mouth moved across his neck. He buried his hands in your hair and dug his nails in so hard that you checked for blood after he came. Even though he was drunk, he insisted on repaying the favor, shoving a hand down your pants when he should've been basking in the fucking afterglow. You came after a few quick jerks and, after he'd washed his hands, he insisted that the two of you exchanged numbers. That wasn't normally your style, but you agreed to it, because who doesn't love a boy that's good with his hands?

He went back to his friends and you went home with someone else, expecting that to be the end of that. Except, as you walk to the nearest subway station the next morning, you pass him on the street. You imagine a huge scene about how you took advantage of him or how a bathroom hook up ruined his chances of reuniting with his one true love. Instead, he smiled like he was the devil making a deal and asked if, over coffee from this great cafe he knew, would you like to talk about making hooking up a regular thing.

You told him the night before had been hot, voice loud and haughty, because you wanted to embarrass him. Because you thought he was talking about dating and milk has a longer shelf life than your relationships. The smile that earned you was all teeth, mean like you remembered from when you first met him.

"Right now, I want sex with no strings," he said, voice just as loud as yours had been, "I distinctly remembered that being your specialty and, like you said, last night was nice. Are you in or what?"

The look he gave you was a challenge and you suddenly understood why they said that New York makes people hard. No innuendo intended. (Not in that moment, anyway.) You grinned like a wolf and said, "I'm saying yes, but sleeping with you doesn't mean I _like_ you or anything."

"Good, because I don't like you either."

He took a long sip of his coffee then, still staring you down like you're something he wanted to swallow whole. (Innuendo _so_ intended there.) When he finished, he stretched his arm across the table and you were afraid that he was going to hold your hand, but he stopped a few inches short of you, waiting for you to reach out a shake like this is fucking business deal.

"I think we're beyond that," you told him.

You surged forward to kiss him, but once you try to slid your tongue between his lips, the asshole _bit_ you. When you let out a stunned cry, he offered a little laugh, standing to go.

"I'll be in touch."

As he sashayed out the door, you were too busy nursing your wounded tongue to even consider the idea that this would all end with you falling in love. There's a reason that hindsight is 20/20.


End file.
